


Sweet Mystery of Life

by Galen_Wordwyrm



Series: Scooby Falls [1]
Category: Danny Phantom, Gargoyles (Cartoon), Gravity Falls, Kolchak: The Night Stalker, Scooby Doo - All Media Types, Scooby Doo! Mystery Incorporated (Cartoon 2010)
Genre: Character Study, Conversations, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, F/M, General wierdness, Historical References, Homelessness, Time Travel, pop culture references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galen_Wordwyrm/pseuds/Galen_Wordwyrm
Summary: Velma Dinkley tackles her greatest mystery!
Relationships: Danny Fenton/Wendy Corduroy, Velma Dinkley/Marcie "Hot Dog Water" Fleach
Series: Scooby Falls [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862383
Comments: 14
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t the first time Velma had slept in the Mystery Machine.

It was however, her third night of sleeping alone in the blue and green custom painted vintage van. The van that was now her home.

After the indisputably paranormal events on ‘Zombie Island' in Louisiana, the book store had been shuttered because it couldn’t compete with the online behemoth Orinoco, and her position at NASA had been the victim of budget cuts, Velma had to dip rather deeply into her rainy day funds.  
‘Mystery Incorporated’ was no more, consumed by the demands of adulthood. Shaggy had stumbled into his dream job as a gastronomic tester and restaurant critic, taking Scooby with him. Fred was a full-time cameraman for Daphne's successful cable entertainment segment, and had somewhat grudgingly sold Velma the original Mystery Machine when he’d upgraded to a new model to accommodate the video recording, editing, and transmission equipment needed.

Several hundred dollars of Velma's savings had gone into converting the Mystery Machine into a very compact mobile home, containing a surprising number of convenient features, including a mostly comfortable bed, her (upgraded) laptop computer which did double duty for entertainment, five gallon onboard water supply, four latching storage drawers under two thirds of the bed for her diminished wardrobe, and a pull-out cartridge chemical toilet under the end of the bed closest to the rear double doors. A small bookshelf over the foot of the bed held the pitiful remainder of her once extensive book collection. Floral blackout curtains assured her privacy, while three carefully placed battery powered LED lights would keep the dark of night at bay, and sufficient rigid foam insulation to keep the interior tolerable, if not comfortable year-round, no matter where she travelled. Roof mounted solar panels would keep her batteries charged, and satellite cell antenna would keep her connected to the internet when she couldn’t hook up to free local Wi-Fi.

One of her last modifications was a small kitchen, consisting of a converted mini-fridge and two-burner stove would be put to use providing for herself with the cooking skills she had picked up feeding the gang, especially Shaggy.

Now, here she was, a young single woman sleeping alone in a big-box department store parking lot under the mast lights, exhausted after three days of driving West. Velma grumbled, and wrapped herself deeper under the thick duvet, nuzzling into her pillows, trying to move as little as possible to avoid giving away that her van was occupied by rocking on the suspension.

Someone knocked on the driver's side window. A glance at her phone told Velma it was after three in the morning. She debated ignoring the knock, reasoning that a car thief was unlikely to break in while well illuminated and under surveillance by store cameras. And before she'd parked for the night, Velma had spoken to store management and gotten permission, so it shouldn’t be store security.

Whoever it was knocked again, harder, this time announcing themselves. “Cheyenne Police!”

Velma fumbled for her glasses, shivering in her baggy orange t-shirt as she sat up, turning on the overhead light as she slid the blackout curtains aside and slipped into the driver's seat with ignition key in hand, keeping her hands in plain sight.

“Open up!”, the uniformed officer demanded. Velma cranked down the window enough so she wouldn’t have to yell to be heard, but didn’t unlock or open her door.

“What can I do for you, officer?”

“License, registration, and insurance!”

“On what grounds?”, Velma inquired, an ember of annoyance kindling.

“Posted no parking sign on private property”, the petty tyrant informed her of the obvious. “We don’t need lazy liberal snowflakes freeloading. Now cough up your ID.”

Velma knew her rights. She also knew when to concede defeat. “Officer, I am choosing at this time to vacate the premises instead of surrendering my documentation, as is my right. I am not resisting your order or refusing to comply.” She lifted the ignition key so the cop could see it, then started the van. With no car parked in front of the Mystery Machine, Velma turned on the headlights, shifted into gear, and obeying all traffic laws, exited the parking lot.

As she expected, the police car swung in behind her, watching for the most insignificant traffic infraction so he could detain her, and at the very least issue a citation she couldn’t afford. Velma smiled tightly to herself, and proceeded to drive at precisely the posted municipal speed limits until she had passed the Cheyenne city limits, and the boundary of Officer Pettifogger's jurisdiction. It was with no small satisfaction she watched him fall back and make an illegal u-turn to return to his more pressing duties.

Cops. Always the same, no matter where she travelled. Small-minded, incurious, and often mentally lazy. Velma waited until the patrol car was well out of sight, and then sped up to a fraction over the posted federal fifty-five mile per hour interstate highway speed limit. 

The minimal subdivisions on the outskirts of Cheyenne passed in the blink of an eye, and soon the velvet blackness of a Great Plains night enveloped the Mystery Machine. 

Two hours later, pre-dawn light was painting the horizon to her right with pale rose and amber as Velma followed the road North North-West. Casper was still over a hundred miles away, and the need for sleep was starting to affect her driving. Which is why when her highbeams picked out the figure in the pale, rumpled seersucker suit stumbling up out of the ditch, she hesitated for a second, almost thinking he was an exhaustion induced hallucination, before swerving and braking hard when he waved his battered straw pork-pie hat in an obvious sign of needing assistance.  
Velma reached across and rolled down the window perhaps a quarter of an inch as the disheveled man ran up beside her.

“Sister”, he announced when he saw her, “Am I glad to see you! I’ve been walking for hours and have exactly no idea where the hell I am.”

Hand on the gear shift, Velma was poised to pull away at the first hint of trouble. “Who are you, and how did you end up out here?”

A folding wallet was opened and pressed against the window glass. “Carl Kolchak, I.N.S.” The ID card was almost invisible in the gloom. “Could you give me a lift to a phone booth? My boss is gonna be significantly irritated that I haven’t checked in!”

Velma couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a public phone. And her own cell phone was still tucked into it's niche at the head of her bed.

‘Wonderful', she thought to herself. “I'll take you as far as the first gas station close to Casper.”

Kolchak was taken aback. “Wyoming?!”

“No, Delaware”, she said flatly.

“A-hah! Sarcasm!”, Kolchak announced, waving an index finger in the air. “This, will a road trip worthy of being recorded in the annals of modern journalism.”

Only a slight hesitation that this might be a guaranteed bad idea, and Velma reached across to unlock the passenger door. Kolchak clambered in gratefully, his camera and tape recorder ratting against each other as he placed them on the floor at his feet, pulling the door shut with a thump.

“Seriously though, thanks for the lift”, he said with sincere weariness. “It's a very…groovy…thing.”

“Seatbelt", Velma requested as she got back up to highway speed. “And no-one says ‘groovy' anymore.” 

Carl complied, fastening his seatbelt, then settling in for the long drive as best he could, pulling his hat down over his eyes.

“I never could keep track of all the slang you kids come up with", Carl yawned. “Give me Strunk and White any day.”

The ancient analog dashboard clock told Velma it was twenty after seven in the morning when she pulled into the parking lot of Jenny's Roadside Diner. Kolchak stirred in the passenger seat, tipping his hat back, looking around blearily. “Where are we?”

“Truck stop on the outskirts of Casper”, Velma informed him. “I don't know about you, but I could use some food.”

Kolchak's stomach rumbled it’s agreement.

Five minutes later Carl and Velma sat across from each other in a booth, black coffee in front of Carl, tea and orange juice for Velma. Carl looked around, a vague but growing unease gnawing at him. The lines and body styling of cars and trucks parked outside were almost familiar, but seemed to echo each other. The television in the corner looked more like a bulky picture frame, and had no readily visible support or mounting. At the far end of the counter, a truck driver in a denim jacket and red baseball cap appeared to be deep in conversation with his pocket calculator.

Velma noticed Carl glancing around with an apprehensive look on his face. “Something wrong?”

He laced his fingers in front of his coffee cup, his head cocked at an angle as regarded her. “Is it just me, or does something seem…odd to you?”, voice low, conspiratorial, his eye on a young woman two booths behind Velma, whose black and green dyed hair was cropped close above her multiply-pierced left ear.

“It’s a truck stop in Wyoming. It would be stranger if everything was normal.”, Velma deadpanned as their meals arrived.

Kolchak nodded grudging agreement with a grunt and attacked his plate of bacon and scrambled eggs.

“The latest headlines!”, the television announced, “Sheriff Joe Arpaio still disputes President Barack Obama's birth certificate, the fallout from the Aurora theatre shooting continues, the Penn State sex scandal claims more victims, and the London Summer Olympics kick off Friday. Now stay tuned for Fox News!” Carl’s fork dropped from his hand, clattering on the plate.

Velma stared at Carl. “What’s wrong?”

“President WHO?!”


	2. Chapter 2

Carl Kolchak, intrepid veteran reporter for the Chicago office of the International News Service, felt as if he'd been poleaxed.

The moderately attractive young woman peered across the table at him from behind her thick-rimmed glasses, suspicion in her eyes. “Barack Obama. He’s been President ever since his election in 2008.”

“Two thousand and eight?!”, Carl bellowed, looking around frantically. “What year is it?”

“2012”, Velma said more calmly than she felt. “And you’re attracting attention.” Her breakfast companion made an effort to compose himself.

“Everything okay, honey?”, the matronly waitress inquired.

“We’re fine", Velma assured her. “My ‘father' has Alzheimer's and gets confused now and then.” Mollified, the waitress turned to the other diner patrons.

Carl sipped his cooling coffee, sullen. “Alzheimer's. Oh, hah hah”, he groused at a much reduced volume. “Very nice. You really are making an effort this time, going all out, the whole big production!”

“What do you mean, ‘This time’?”, Velma asked, her curiosity piqued.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve run into you government spook types, engaging in a cover-up, trying to hide the truth from the American public!”, Kolchak accused her, leaning forward. “But I didn’t think you had the budget to pull off a charade this elaborate just to silence one dedicated journalist. The cars must have set you back a cool hundred grand alone.”

“Carl, what are you talking about?”, Velma demanded. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, sister. This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered extra-terrestrial life, and you know it!”, he quietly enunciated, jabbing a finger at her.

“Carl, what year is it?”, Velma queried.

“1978. And Jimmy Carter is the President, unless the Republicans have some dirty trick up their sleeve.”

The penny dropped for Velma. “I’m an idiot!”, she exclaimed, standing up and digging some bills out of her pocket that she dropped hurriedly on the table to pay for their breakfast, before rushing for the door. 

Carl shrugged an apology at the waitress. “Kids. You know”, he offered by way of explanation and hurried after Velma.

He caught up with her in the parking lot.

“Would you please explain what the hell is going on?”, he complained as Velma threw open the side doors of the Mystery Machine, diving to boot up her laptop.

“Carl Kolchak. A reporter who disappeared years ago!” She stared at him like he was a particularly new and exciting animal specimen, which was more than a little unsettling. He had to get a handle on this situation and fast.

Falling back on a reliable tactic to gather his thoughts, Carl began reeling off a catalog of details as he understood them. “Fact: My editor, one Anthony Vincenzo, sent me on assignment to interview a Mister Halford Ellis, who claimed to have seen a real-life flying saucer!

Fact: While investigating Mr. Ellis' claims, I was rather rudely assaulted and abducted by a person or persons unknown, and transported, against my will mind you, from Chicago, Illinois to the middle of nowhere, Wyoming! 

Fact: After stumbling around in the dead of night for hours, the only person who stops to pick me up is an overly-intelligent young woman driving a van that looks like it just came from Woodstock!

Fact: We arrive at what I am informed is a ‘diner', but all the cars in the parking lot look like Detroit concept models, and some FBI flunky is talking into a science fiction movie prop, whi…” Carl’s voice trailed off when Velma turned the screen she’d been intent on to face him. His own image, a rather unflattering I.N.S staff portrait, confronted him. The headline was a shock. ‘Missing Reporter Declared Dead’.

His shoulders slumped. 

“Then it really is the year 2012", he admitted to himself.

“And you really are Karel ‘Carl' Kolchak, author of ‘The Vegas Vampire' and ‘The Seattle Strangler' “, Velma said with a note of awe in her voice.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Honestly?”

She nodded, hands clasped on the breast of her orange t-shirt.

“A bright light, and the sensation like I was about to go over the crest of a roller coaster.”

“Carl, I think you were abducted by honest to goodness aliens. MUFON has noted Chicago to be a UFO hotspot for ages”, Velma informed him.

Kolchak removed his hat and scratched his head, thinking hard. “Just my luck that they dump me fifty miles from nowhere.”

“Climb in, Carl”, Velma offered gently. “I need to stop and get a few groceries in Casper, and we can share a motel room. I need a shower and about ten hours of real sleep.”

*-*-*

The motel they found was a small family operation, not part of any franchise, and offered laundry facilities. While Velma luxuriated in the unlimited hot water for her shower, Carl used the supplied remote control to flip through several dozen cable television channels, skimming news, current events, and documentaries in what was probably a vain effort to catch up on thirty plus years.

A waft of steam announced Velma’s exit from the bathroom. “Ugh. I must have washed at least a pound of crud off”, she announced as she sat down on the bed closest to the bathroom, dressed in a tangerine tank top and brick colored soft cotton boxer shorts, drying her short auburn hair with a towel.

Carl looked away, slightly uncomfortable, feeling a displacement in his own shorts at the rather noticeable charms of the young woman across from him. “So, what's the plan?”, he inquired, hoping to change the subject.

Velma yawned and stretched, sliding under the covers after tossing the damp towel on the empty folding luggage stand, putting her glasses and cell phone within easy reach. “I don’t know about you, Carl, but I really need some sleep. Watch T.V. if you want, but please keep the volume down.”

“I might go for a walk, try to wrap my head around my situation", Carl replied.

“ ‘K", was the sleepy response.

Kolchak rose, slipped into his suit jacket, put on his hat and made sure he had the room key card in his pocket, then exited as quietly as possible.

Some discreet inquiries pointed him to the Casper public library, where he spent a frustrating four hours coming to grips with the internet and computer illiteracy, discovering in the process that his old boss, Tony Vincenzo, had passed away fourteen years after leaving the news business in early 1979 to manage a Venetian and vertical blinds dealership. He also read with sadness of the passing of the beloved advice columnist Miss Emily. His own obituary, oddly, comfortingly sympathetic, was written by Ron Updike, who’d managed to become an network affiliate news anchor after all. In Casper, Wyoming. Kolchak ruthlessly crushed the fleeting desire to show up on old Uptight's doorstep unannounced.

‘No', he decided, ‘it’s better to leave sleeping dogs lie. And lay old ghosts to rest.’ Kolchak rose from the library computer terminal, thanked the librarian, and stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. 

A short wander found Carl perched on a barstool, staring down into a glass of cheap draught beer, pondering his future. Officially, Carl Kolchak was long dead. Obtaining current identification would require making explanations that would have caused Tony to throw an apoplectic fit. And in turn attract attentions of the federal governmental kind he would honestly prefer to permanently avoid. The limited cash in his wallet was going to run out very quickly, which was another problem altogether. 

Kolchak pushed the remainder of his glass of beer away on the bar, thanked the bartender, and left.

This was almost too much to take in. The first African-American President, an unending war in the Middle East, gay marriage being legal in parts of the nation, school shootings. A litany of seismic shifts in society and culture.

“I am I, and I wish I weren't”, Kolchak mused aloud as he wandered, hands tucked into his pockets. “What a brave new world. 

Someone should have punched Huxley right in the nose.”

A flicker of movement caught the corner of Kolchak's eye, and he leaned back half a step to see a young man in an alley at the rear wall of a store, glancing around to see if anyone could see him. Carl tucked himself close to the corner of the building, reporter's instinct utterly aware, and watched as a soft halo of light expanded to envelope the figure, turning him almost transparent, black hair flaring white for a fraction of a second, before the ghostly presence stepped forward, disappearing through the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

Pale blue light and muted conversation roused Velma from sleep. A flash of panic was resolved when she fumbled for her glasses and turned on the bedside lamp. She was in a motel room, but not alone.

“Oh, it’s you, Carl.”

Kolchak was slouched in the room's lone chair, a can of cheap beer in hand, hat tipped back on his head. He looked even more disheveled than he had when he staggered up out of the ditch on the highway, if that was even possible. 

He rubbed a hand over his face, focusing on her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

Velma glanced at the room's alarm clock, it's red LEDs reading 12:35. Just over ten hours sleep. 

“You look terrible.”

Kolchak slurped some beer from the can. “Isn't one is supposed to look terrible after seeing a ghost?”, he asked only slightly sarcastically.

Velma was completely awake now. “You expect me to believe you saw a ghost. In Casper, Wyoming.” 

Kolchak waved a hand at her dismissively, annoyed. “I didn’t expect you to do anything", he grumbled. “My whole career, I’ve been mocked for trying to expose the truth.” He peered at her over the arm of the chair. “I’d you’d seen half, no, a tenth!, of what I’ve seen, you’d sleep with one eye open, all your lights on for the rest of your life! Werewolves, rakshasas, a headless motorcyclist. Waving a Japanese sword, for God’s sake!” He drained the can of beer, and tossed it at the waste bin, to clatter off the wall as it missed. “Indian manitou, moss men, and Helen of Troy herself!”

Velma swung out of bed, slipped on her shoes, and left the room, returning from the Mystery Machine moments later with an old paperback book that she almost threw in his lap, one with a picture of him holding out a crucifix in a warding gesture on the front cover, under the title ‘The Vegas Vampire’. She sat on a corner of her bed in a huff, arms crossed. “Pirate ghosts, a horde of zombies, and Voudun-using shapeshifting cat people who attempted to drain the life out of me and my friends, and that was all in one weekend!” 

“I grew up reading your books, we all did, Freddy, Daphne, even Shaggy, wanting to believe that the stories were true!”, Velma said heatedly. “We even formed a club, driving around in the Mystery Machine, solving mysteries. And every time it was just some creep in a costume or a rubber mask.”

She glared at Carl. “That all changed on Moonscar Island. The ghosts were real, the zombies were real, and the danger was very, very real!” Eyeing the remaining beers on the room's dresser, she snatched one, popping the tab, spraying a bit of beer as it hissed open. Velma chugged three swallows, ignoring the bitter taste of the lager. “They levitated me, and Freddy and Shaggy saw up my skirt, I know they did! I wanted to die!” Velma drained the beer, crushed the can in her hand, and tossed it in the trash without looking. Then she crumpled sideways into her pillow, sobbing. “They left me! I’m all alone!”, she wailed.

Kolchak rose heavily from the uncomfortable chair, pulled the blankets up around the crying young woman’s shoulders, patted her gently, and rolled still clothed onto the second bed after turning out the lamp. The glow and mutter of the T. V., and Velma's sobs quieting as she fell back asleep, a state which eluded Carl for several more hours…

*-*-*

Nine o'clock in the morning came far too soon for either of their liking, with rushed morning ablutions, packing Velma's laundry she'd forgotten to wash, and checkout by eleven was undertaken in a terse, polite near-silence. Twenty miles north of Casper, they both tried to speak at the same time. 

“I must have made a fool of myself--", Velma began.

“It was rude of me to assu--", Carl blurted, then waved graciously for Velma to continue. She nodded.

“My head is killing me", Velma admitted. “I hardly ever drink, and I have the alcohol tolerance of a diabetic mouse.”

“It took several years of dedicated training in the finest dive watering holes of New York, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, and Chicago to convince my liver that resistance was futile", Carl expounded in mock seriousness. “Such is the regimen of the dedicated paladin of punditry.”

“Whatever you say, Sir Roessis”, Velma snarked. 

“A pun!”, Carl barked a laugh. “It seems your education was entirely misspent, and all the better for it." He eyed a tourist sign on the side of the road. “If it isn’t too bold, may a ninety-year-old reporter inquire where an attractive young woman is driving?”

“Oregon, the bustling backwoods community known as Gravity Falls. Why, did you have somewhere you needed to be?”

“Oh no, no. Well, not really", Carl hedged. “I suppose it would be too far out of your way to go to…”, he trailed off.

“Out with it, Carl", Velma ordered, gauging her impending movement in highway traffic. “There’s no gaslight in this van.”

“Devil's Tower", he muttered from behind his hand.

“What, from CE3K?”, she grinned. “I never figured you for a nerd, Carl!”

“See-eee-three what now?”

“Close Encounters--"

“Of the Third Kind, Spielberg, yes, I know", Carl finished for her. “Tony thought it would be a good idea for me to see it before I interviewed Halford Ellis, which I did, just before…", he wiggled his fingers upward and made a quiet whistling, whooshing sound. 

Velma braked at a ‘T' intersection, glancing right and left. “Devil’s Tower is a good three hours in the opposite direction I’m going, so unless you have the money for gas, the answer is no. I’m sorry, Carl.” Seeing an opening, she signaled left and punched the gas, turning hard. 

“Hey-what-WHOA!” and a muffled ‘thud' of a body landing on the floor of the van in a tangle of pale blue duvet made Velma brake hard, swerving into the break-down lane, cutting off an expensive black SUV. The sudden stop somersaulted the stowaway into the space between the front seats.  
Velma and Carl stared at the black haired young man in utter surprise.

“It’s the ghost kid!”, Carl yelled. 

Velma screamed. 

The ghost kid screamed.

Chaos in a confined space as the stowaway attempted to toss the duvet over Velma and Carl while simultaneously trying to fumble open the side doors. Carl flailing in his own effort to open the passenger door and leap out in pursuit while still wearing his seatbelt. And Velma, with a grace born of long practice in evading miscreants intent on doing her bodily harm, bailing out the driver's side door, rounding the front of the idling, parked van to neatly intercept the fugitive in a flying tackle. That proved utterly ineffective as his immaterial form passed right through her arms, leaving her sprawled on the dusty ground. “Jinkies!”, she yelped.


	4. Chapter 4

Velma rolled to her feet as Carl charged past her, legs pumping, tie flapping, one hand pinning his battered hat to his head. Unlike some others she'd known, Carl was intrepid enough to run toward the unknown, rather than away from it.

Carl’s intended quarry was the black-haired young man who’d stowed away in the Mystery Machine, and had been unintentionally revealed in a hard left turn. That young man was now doing his best to evade the determined reporter who was rapidly closing the gap. Velma saw that the young man was angling toward a clump of scrub brush around the mouth of a culvert that ducked beneath the highway, and sprinted as best she could to intercept him.

He almost made it. As he glanced over his left shoulder to see if the old man was about to catch him, Velma tackled him again from his right, knocking the wind out of him, seeing stars as his head struck an exposed root. 

“Got you!”, Velma exulted.

Kolchak puffed to a stop a dozen feet away, sweat streaming down his face. “Lady, any time you want to join the Front Four of the Green Bay Packers, I know a guy who’ll sign you up in a heartbeat”, he wheezed.

“Go ‘Cheeseheads'”, groaned the figure at their feet. 

It took a few minutes to escort the young man back to the Mystery Machine, doors still open, engine still running. And a Wyoming Highway Patrol car parked behind it. “Uh-oh", Velma muttered.

The patrol officer had mustache that looked like someone had glued an unfortunate anorexic hamster on the upper lip a caricature bust of Caesar that sported gaunt high cheekbones and a voluminous classical Roman nose. Sadly, a reedy high-pitched voice betrayed the noble lineage.

“Who is the registered owner of this vehicle?”, the patrolman inquired.

Velma was about to volunteer the information, when Carl intervened. “Officer, ah, Stannard”, he began, reading the nametag on the man’s shirt, and flipped his wallet open and closed. “Carl Kolchak, INS. My partner and I were transporting this undocumented immigrant to a hearing where he’s a very important witness against a major coyote whose using adolescents as mules to transport coco-bolo throughout the Southwest. This brave young man has agreed to testify, on condition of immunity and witness protection, hence the unusual choice of transportation.

Paco here was unnerved by the black vehicle that attempted to run us off the road, thinking it might be professional killers sent to silence him before he could testify”, Kolchak concluded, daring the patrolman to question his integrity.

The officer swallowed visibly. Behind Kolchak, Velma was expressionless, one hand firmly gripping the youth by his elbow. Stannard ran the odds mentally. If he reported this, he'd be violating a witness protection order. If he didn't, he might be allowing criminals to escape. But who in their right mind would use a garish, outdated hippy van to transport a witness unless they were telling the truth.

“You folks have a safe trip." Tapping the flat brim of his Smokey hat in salute, he returned to his car.

Velma waited until they were well out of sight of the patrol car before she spoke. “Carl, do you sell that fertilizer in fifty pound bags?”

Kolchak let out a shaky breath. “Nice to know I still have the old magic.”

“’Paco'?”, their unwilling passenger said, incredulous. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

Kolchak glanced at the ghost kid, nonplussed. “You’d rather we told Smokey the Drear back there the truth? ‘Hi officer! We caught this kid hiding in the back of the van. He’s probably a runaway. Oh, and he can turn invisible.” Carl chuckled dismissively. “Yeah, that would have gone over like a lead balloon. The three of us in lock up while the fuzz try to figure out who we are. No, thank you.”

‘Paco' looked at Velma. “Where did you dig up this fossil? He sounds like a retro T.V. show.” 

“Don’t knock it, kid”, Velma said. “If Carl hadn't convinced the officer you were part of an exotic hardwood smuggling ring, I’d have lost my van. So, you got a name?”

A moment of hesitation. “Bill. Griffin.”

Velma smirked. “Care to try again?”

Carl shot a questioning look at Velma. “Do I detect an air of disbelief regarding our guest's identity?”

“Griffin is the name of H. G. Well's ‘Invisible Man'", Velma informed him. “Isn’t that right, ‘Inviso-Bill'?”

‘Bill' crossed his arms, pouting. “Fine. Fenton. I’m Danny Fenton.”

“I’m Carl, and our charming chauffeur is Velma”, Kolchak told him. “I’m an out of work reporter and UFO abductee, and Velma is…by the way, what is Velma?”

“Velma is wondering why Danny broke into her van", she said.

Danny shrugged. “I needed a place to sleep. I figured an RV in a motel parking lot was a safe bet.” He scooted forward to brace himself between the two front seats. “I didn’t break into your van. I went ghost and kinda…walked in. Joining a road trip was definitely not in my plans.”

“And just what are your plans, Daniel?”, Kolchak inquired.

“It’s Danny”, he corrected. “And other than getting as far away from my parents as possible, it doesn’t really matter.”

Kolchak leaned on the passenger door armrest, regarding the young man. Danny glanced up at him, then away, like he was hiding something, but wanting to confess the truth. “Why do you want to get away from your parents, Danny?”

“Because his parents are obsessed by the paranormal”, Velma said. “They’re professional ghost hunters in Amity Park.” 

Danny stared at her. “How did you…?”

“I spent almost ten years running around solving mysteries with my friends. Amity Park was on our list of places to visit eventually. At least before the gang went their separate ways.”

Carl regarded Velma solemnly for a moment, as a kindred spirit. “Do you…still solve mysteries?”

Velma nodded. “Sometimes. These days I visit sites of rumored paranormal activity, and write blog posts about possible explanations that people donate money to read.”

“That seems like an awfully shaky way to make a living", Carl opined.

“I’m also part owner of a carnival.”

Kolchak mouthed a silent “Ohhh.”

The miles rolled by in silence. “Doesn't this heap have a radio?”, Danny complained.

“Indeed!”, echoed Kolchak. “One would hope that that while I was away, country and western music has evolved beyond sounding like someone strangling a yodelling goat.” 

“The goats got better managers”, Velma observed dryly. “Country and country pop are among my least favorite genres of music.”

“Yeah, you’re more the Beethoven and Bach type", Danny snickered.

“I prefer Nine Inch Nails, Evanesence, Greenday, and a lot of other third wave post punk", Velma commented.

Danny was slack jawed. “Sam would have tried to adopt you.”

“Sam?”

Danny turned, his back against the transmission hump, arms wrapped around his knees. “Samantha Manson. One of my best friends. Maybe more than that”, he admitted glumly. “She was one of the only people who stood by me after the accident turned me into a freak. Even if she was a dedicated vegetarian.”

“Was her wardrobe inundated with black and purple?”

“Is that significant?", Carl asked. 

“I’m familiar with the type”, Velma said. “Generic goth chick.” 

Danny scoffed. “Sam was hardly generic. She barely screamed at all when I accidentally ghosted us through a wall at school. Tucker was more like you, always looking for a rational explanation.”

“It sounds like you miss them”, Kolchak noted. Danny nodded.

“I do. But I have to stay away. Mom and dad used them as bait more than once, trying to trap me. Tucker got pretty messed up the last time, wound up in the mental health ward for a month.”

“You travel pretty light for a runaway", Velma observed.

“I get by.”

Kolchak grunted. “I saw how you get by. Walk through a wall, a little spectral self-service, and no-one the wiser.”

Danny looked even more wretched. “I’m not proud of what I do", he said defensively. “But you try living an ordinary life, not knowing the next time you might go ghost. It’s not like I have complete control over it. Any time I’m anxious or scared, or angry, boom, I’m a phantom!”

The miles rolled by under the wheels, with Velma, Carl, and Danny comparing notes on the varied unusual events of their disparate lives. Danny laughed and Carl chuckled when Velma related case after case, one instance after another where the supposed supernatural event was nothing more than a common criminal. Velma and Danny in turn listen in rapt fascination to Carl’s exploits in facing one nightmare after another. Then it was Danny’s turn.

“A box ghost?!”, Carl snickered, incredulous.

Danny scowled slightly. “Simultaneously lamer and more challenging than you'd think."

“Did you eventually square him away?” Velma couldn’t resist.

“I take it back”, Danny facepalmed. “You deserve Tucker.”

Velma glanced at a mileage marker. “Twenty miles to Jackson, guys. Time to decide where you're sleeping.”

Carl looked at Velma dubiously. “Would you care to let us in on the joke?”

“No joke, Carl. I retro-fitted the Mystery Machine for solo sleeping. And I can’t afford a motel every night.”

Carl exhaled through pursed lips, dispirited. “I’ve got fifteen bucks left.”

Danny rummaged in his pocket, and held up a handful of crumpled bills.

“I won’t accept proceeds of a crime either, Danny”, Velma warned.

“It’s not stolen", Danny said quietly. “I earned it doing odd jobs.”

Velma debated with herself for a moment, judging the honesty in Danny's voice. “Okay. Carl and I will sign in. Do you think you can sneak into the room?”

“I think I can manage it”, Danny said smugly, holding up an empty sleeve.

“Jesus!”, Carl yelped. “Don’t do that!”


	5. Chapter 5

Nampa, Idaho. Lakeview Park. Around two in the afternoon.

Nobody paid attention to the psychedelic painted blue and green Mystery Machine as Velma put together a modest, but tasty and fulfilling meal from her meagre pantry. Danny and Velma sat cross-legged on the bed, and Carl occupied the passenger seat which had been turned to face into the passenger area.

Danny looked out the open side doors at a vintage jet fighter display in the distance. “Why is this called Lakeview Park? There's no lake.”

Velma poked and stirred the contents of her bowl. “It was a man-made irrigation reservoir that they filled in back in the Twenties, after it caused some floods.”

Carl spooned up an appreciative mouthful. “You’re pretty good with that little stove.”

“Two things I’m good at: cooking and deductive reasoning.”

Danny reached over, idly lifting a paperboard box. “Scooby Snax? Dog treats? Please tell me that you didn’t put dog treats in my lunch.”

“Relax, Danny”, Velma said. “There’s hardly any left, and you're not the kind of person who’d eat them anyway.”

“Who would eat them?” Danny look slightly aghast.

“Norville Rogers for one.”

“With a name like that, I’d eat dog biscuits too", Kolchak ventured.

“Shaggy was…unique in his dietary habits", Velma admitted. “There wasn’t a food or condiment he wouldn’t try. Scooby too. Whenever those two would disappear, odds were you’d find them in the kitchen, concocting a meal from whatever they could find.”

Danny raised a his spoon in a question. “Who was Scooby?”

“Scooby Doo was Shaggy's Great Dane.”

Carl shook his head. “So it was the four of you: Fred, this Shaggy, Daphne, and your own charming self, in here with a dog the size of a pony. No wonder you went solo on this outing.”

“It wasn’t so bad. Daphne’s folks had money. They’re the ones who bought the van originally. Fred drove us around, and we either slept with family we had in the area where we were investigating, or Daphne’s folks spotted us the cash to stay in a hotel.”

Danny scraped up the last spoonful. “So where are we headed?”

“Gravity Falls, Oregon”, Velma explained. 

“Home to Stanford Pines ‘Mystery Shack', formerly known as the ‘Murder Hut', a fairly common example of the backwoods tourist trap, cheap even by the definition of ‘tacky' “, Carl supplied.

Velma blinked. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Heard of it? I went there shortly after the bastards threw me out of Las Vegas”, Carl scowled. “Me, Vincenzo, and Gail Foster, crammed into my ’66 Mustang, on the drive up to Seattle.”

“So you’ve told us where we're going, but not why”, Danny pointed out.

Velma collected the dishes, filled the rice pot with more water from the five gallon supply, and set it on the stove to heat. “You wash, I’ll dry.”

While the water was heating, Velma booted up her laptop, and opened her email. “I got this about a month ago. A scan of a clipping from the Gravity Falls Gossiper about a winged woman supposedly haunting the woods.”

The water was ready for washing, and the dishes were dealt with quickly. The waste water went discretely down a nearby sewer grate.

“Can I use your computer to check my messages?”, Danny asked. Velma nodded, and Danny proceeded to log in. A merry ‘ping' announced he had mail. Danny smiled a bit sadly as he read it. “Sam was able to wire me some cash. Only a couple hundred bucks.”

Velma nodded. “We passed a Western Union on the way into town. I’m thinking we can be in Gravity Falls by nine tonight.”

*-*-*

Early evening, and the sun cast long shadows down the Columbia River valley as it began to set. Washington state was to the right, North across the river, but Carl in the driver's seat giving Velma a chance to rest, signaled and turned left to Biggs Junction.

Velma, who had been dozing in the passenger seat, roused herself at the change in motion. “What’s up, Carl?”

“We need gas and food, in that order", Carl proclaimed as they pulled up to one of the pumps at the Pilot Travel Center. “I’ll fill up and meet you at the…Big Belly Burger. Well, you can’t say there’s no truth in advertising.” Danny handed Carl fifty dollars without asking.

Velma and Danny exited the Mystery Machine and entered the fast food franchise. “I think I’ll have the Belly Buster platter, in honor of Tucker. He'd have gone to town in here", Danny announced. Velma had always had a weakness for the Cheesemeister. They both had chocoriffic milkshakes. Carl joined them at the booth ten or so minutes later, shaking his head as he deposited his tray on the table and slid into the seat. “Four and a quarter a gallon? That’s highway robbery!”, he declared indignantly. He un-wrapped his Belly Flop burger dubiously. “Is there a war in the Middle East I missed? How much is a barrel of oil going for these days?”

“Oil is a hundred and ten a barrel, and we've been in Iraq since Nine-Eleven", Velma informed him. 

Carl hesitated, burger halfway to his mouth. “We're in Iraq? Why? Saddam is our guy, according to D.C.”

Danny shrugged, chewing a bite. “We invaded after the World Trade Center was attacked on September eleventh.”

Carl stared, dumbstruck. “Iraq attacked New York? “

“No, the World Trade Center was destroyed when extremists flew planes into the buildings”, Velma explained. “The extremists were members of Al Quaeda, run by Osama bin Ladin. In retaliation, we invaded and occupied Afghanistan and Iraq. Saddam has been dead for six years.”

“Bin Ladin? That’s a Saudi name”, Carl remarked, food forgotten. Velma nodded. “So just who the hell are we fighting? If Saddam's dead, why are we still in Iraq?”, he demanded.

Danny shrugged, taking another bite. “Fucked if I know.”

“Language!”, Velma warned. Danny apologized.

Carl finally began eating, trying hard to take in all of the information. The trio finished their meal in silence.

It was almost full dark when they stepped out into the overly warm, humid night. Velma resumed driving, and both she and Carl rolled down their windows in a bid to stay cool. Danny resumed his place on the floor between the seats, dozing as the Mystery Machine wended it’s way into the Cascade Mountains.

Velma had predicted arriving in Gravity Falls around nine in the evening. Instead, it was well after eleven when they pulled into the parking lot of the Twin Bed Motel. The clerk behind the desk was perfunctory, signing Velma and Carl in on the register, and handing them an actual key. Velma paid for a week in advance.

The room décor hadn’t been updated for decades, but at least the television was color and had cable. Rust stained the drains of the sink and bathtub. Danny ghosted in through the door, and became tangible.

“What a dump”, he observed.

“It does have a certain slasher movie je ne sais quoi”, Velma agreed.

Carl looked grim. “I think the roaches in my place in Seattle had relatives who grew up in this fine establishment.”

They took turns showering, trading off control of the T.V. as they went. Carl was the last to emerge, wrapped in a towel from the waist down. He sat, cautiously, conscious of not wanting to expose himself unnecessarily to his companions. “I’ve got to find some work, and soon. Having one suit to my name is unacceptable.”

“This might be an opportunity for you, Carl”, Velma offered. “Gravity Falls is exactly the kind of backwater people wanting to escape their past frequently wind up in.” 

Danny perked up somewhat. “There’s probably a few places around here that would even hire me part time.” 

Carl nodded, cheerfully pessimistic.

In the dark night outside the motel, a figure with scarlet tinged amber eyes perched on the railing of the water tower, watching the arrival of the Mystery Machine with interest…


	6. Chapter 6

Mid-morning of her Friday shift at the Mystery Shack, and Wendy Corduroy was already bored out of her mind. A family trio who’d taken a wrong turn and arrived at the souvenir shop by accident were bickering in hushed tones in one corner about the best route to take out of Gravity Falls. Wendy ignored them.

Stan was outside, polishing the paint on the latest addition to his astoundingly mediocre collection of ‘attractions' featured at the Mystery Shack, a pale yellow convertible he claimed had once belonged to a UFO abductee. Dipper and Mabel had convinced Soos to take them to the beach for the day. Wendy groaned in almost physical pain at her boredom, leaning back in her chair, feet on the counter, arms dangling limply. Her only potential salvation was the scraggly haired young woman in the baggy sweater and red and yellow striped socks who’d been hanging around for the past couple of days, spending her time going through the rack of trashy tourist books that purported to be true accounts of supernatural events in the Northwest.

She hadn’t bought any.

The family interrupted her boredom by purchasing three sodas and map.

Movement in the parking lot attracted Wendy’s attention. A garish blue and green vintage van was pulling up, and three people got out: A woman in her mid-twenties wearing an orange t-shirt and a brick colored mini-skirt, a rumpled man in his mid-fifties dressed in a suit even more rumpled and a battered straw hat, with a small camera and a vintage cassette deck dangling from shoulder straps, and a black haired young man in a white t-shirt and faded jeans.

“Dang, he’s a hottie", Wendy said aloud.

A book on lake monsters landed on the counter, breaking her appreciative reverie. “Hey, if seersucker is your thing, go for it”, the young woman with the tangled hair quipped.

“Eww! Gross! No, man!”, Wendy laughed. “I was talking about El Hunkacabra out there.”

The young woman shrugged as she paid for her book. “Whatever rings your bell. Not my type though.”

Wendy smirked. “What is your type? Battery operated?”

A slight predatory smile in response that made Wendy shiver. “Curvy and nerdy.”

The young woman exited as the woman and the hottie from the van came in. You could almost see the spark between the two women as they looked in each other’s eyes as they passed. 

Danny looked around the room, taking in the obvious fakes in cheap display cases and tourist tchotchkes that crowded the shelves of the Mystery Shack. “What a load of crap.”

“It’s not just crap", Wendy laughed. “It’s mass produced, outrageously overpriced crap. I—you have amazing eyes! No wait, ignore that last part!” She blushed furiously. 

Danny put a hand on the back of his neck nervously. “Ha-ha. Yeah, thanks.” 

Velma wandered along the shelves, distracted, her mind elsewhere.

“Can we try that again? I’m Wendy Corduroy”, she introduced herself, hand extended.

“I’m Danny", he replied, shaking her hand politely. “Any chance you’re hiring?”

Wendy shook her head, sending a wave cascading through her hip-length red hair. “ ‘Fraid not. Stan is as cheap as he is crooked.” At Danny’s glum look, she offered a suggestion. “You might try Greasy's, Big Gunz Laser Tag, or the Putt Hutt. If you’re really desperate, the bowling alley is looking for a new pin monkey.” Danny snickered at the last one. “No, seriously! The Northwest family bought the last one to train as a butler!”

“You’re yanking my chain", Danny chuckled. “Monkey servants are so passé.”

“I’m off at five. Meet me at Greasy's.”

“Wait, that’s a real place?!”

“Best pancakes in town", Wendy bragged, smiling.

*-*-*

Kolchak wandered up to the car on display outside.

“Nice set of wheels.”

“She sure is", Stan Pines admitted, pride in his gravelly voice. 

“1966 Ford Mustang convertible, stroked ‘Thriftpower’ inline six cylinder engine, three speed manual transmission, original sunflower yellow paint job”, Kolchak recited.

Stan chuckled. “You know your Detroit iron, that’s for sure. I picked this baby up for a song. They say the previous owner was abducted by aliens.”

“Dearborn, Michigan, actually. And I’m the previous owner.” Carl jangled the keys from his hand. “You’re in possession of stolen property.”

“You can’t prove anything!”

Carl unlocked and opened the car door, inserted the ignition key, tapped the gas, and started the car. The powerful one hundred and one horsepower engine rumbled to life. On a hunch, Carl opened the glove compartment. His insurance papers were still there.

“You were saying?”

“God-dammit!”, Stan thundered and stomped inside. 

Carl threw back his head in laughter and drove away, heading back to Gravity Falls. 

*-*-*

Danny and Wendy stared in astonishment.

“Dude, your grandpa just stole my boss’ car!”

“H-he's not my grand father", Danny stammered.

“That’s so bad ass!”, Wendy crowed.

Velma snapped out of her daze. “What does Carl think he’s doing?!”

“Chill", Wendy advised. “If I know Stan, he probably got that car on the black market.” Velma was anything but reassured.

“See you around five", Danny confirmed to Wendy as he followed Velma out the door. 

“Why weren’t you watching Carl instead of flirting?”, Velma confronted Danny as they set off after Kolchak.

“When did it become my job to monitor the Mothership Zeta reject?”, Danny shot back. “Besides, I wasn’t the one in la-la land because of violet eyes!”

“You noticed she had violet eyes too?” Velma was impressed.

“Sam has violet eyes.”

Velma calmed herself. “I don’t know why, but I feel there’s a connection to the flying woman with the girl in the souvenir shop. And now we have to find Carl!”

“Oh, there's a connection, alright", Danny smirked. “And how hard can it be to find an antique driving an antique?”

“Nobody likes a smart aleck, Danny”, Velma cautioned.

“Look who's talking! Miss Encyclopedia!”

Velma pulled over to the side of the narrow road that led to the Mystery Shack and stopped. “Get out.”

Danny glared at Velma, eyes fading blue to green.

“I really don’t have the time or crayons to explain this to you, Daniel, but I’m not exactly having a great time with my life right now.” Velma was staring out the windshield, straight ahead.

Danny threw open the door and climbed out. “You’re not the only person having problems!”, he shouted, slamming the door.

“Jerk!”

“Bitch!”

Velma floored the gas, throwing up a cloud of dust.

Danny groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That could have gone better.”

*-*-*

Velma found the yellow Mustang parked outside the tavern next to the Gravity Falls Gossiper. “I’m not even surprised”, she muttered.

Carl however, was surprised when she slid onto the stool next to him. The dusky female bartender with flowing white hair and an eye patch that bore a red ‘X' regarded her for a moment.

“What'll it be?” 

“Two ‘Black Ponies' and a Herzwesten”, Velma ordered.

Kolchak blinked. “Black Pony? You'd actually touch that rotgut?”

The two shots and proper Kerferloher ceramic stein containing the foamy dark beer that was only brewed every seven hundred years were set in front of Velma.

“Your funeral, honey", the bartender advised. Velma downed the shots neat in quick succession. Carl wrinkled his nose at the eye-stinging fumes from the cheap whisky.

“You’re not going to be in any condition to drive”, Carl pointed out.

Velma slapped the motel room key on the bar as she quaffed the beer. “I got in a fight with Danny because of a girl. And my bed is right outside!”

Silence.

Twenty minutes later, Carl and the bartender were pouring Velma into the Mustang. 

“She…doesn’t drink that often”, Carl explained, standing beside the white-haired woman. “Or…ever, to be honest.”

“Probably for the best. Knows her hooch, though.”

“Carl", he said holding out his hand professionally.

“Vaggie.” They shook. “Will I be seeing a lot of you?” 

“I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

Vaggie snorted, good naturedly. “See you in hell, Carl.”

Carl climbed into his reclaimed car and started the engine. “Oh, probably.”

*-*-*

“So, how were the pancakes?”, Wendy laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone take down the lumberjack stack that fast.”

“Axe me later", Danny grinned, hands in his pockets. Wendy’s lanky, long-legged stride matching his own.

“You here for the summer?”

Danny shrugged. “My situation is…kinda messed up.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I was at the Twin Bed Motel. But I had to go and piss off my ride”, Danny admitted. “I guess it’s back to sleeping rough.”

“Wait, dude, you’re homeless?!”

“Not for long though", Danny corrected hastily. “I start tomorrow at the bowling alley. I’ll get my own place soon.”

“I hope you’re light on your feet, Danny", Wendy cautioned. “Some of the bowlers are downright mean. They aim at the pin monkeys.”

Danny grinned. “They’ll never touch me.” He looked up at the roof of the high school. “Hey, neat! You have a gargoyle!”

Wendy looked where Danny was pointing.

“That's…weird. We didn’t have one last year.”


	7. Chapter 7

The last direct rays of the sun vanished behind the escarpment on the western horizon, and the small mountain town of Gravity Falls was submerged in the deep ocean of night. Neon signs flickered to life, advertising the few restaurants and businesses that remained open after sunset, defying the void of the night for just a few more hours.

She had always enjoyed this time, when shadows ruled, and no-one could see you.

No-one could judge you.

Taking a deep breath, she tensed her leg muscles, and leapt into darkness, wings snapping open with a soft thunderclap. Effortlessly, catching the thermal off the streets that has absorbed the heat of the day, she gained altitude in slow loops above the town, watching, seeking. Here, a young couple strolled the dark streets, he talking, she staring at her cell phone, both heedless of the shapes lurking in the shadows. There, a battered pickup truck labored up the lane to an A-frame in the woods, the young occupants of the truck baked by the sun and reeking of coconut.

Another lazy circuit of the town. She smiled, seeing the waitress of the local diner had once again abandoned a pie on the windowsill of the establishment. She stooped like hawk, snatching it from the grasp of the pointy-hatted vermin who lived in the margin between town and forest. Laughing at the threats and insults hurled in her wake, she clawed for altitude, just enough to make a graceful landing on the roof of the town's aging water tower.

She settled, wings folded, to enjoy her treat. She’d pay with a very upset stomach later because of the pastry, but the warm cherry filling made it worthwhile.

A noise behind her on the opposite side of the water tower, a scrape and tick of what sounded like very large claws. She looked over her shoulder, ducking her left wing for a clear view. 

Someone stood there, wrapped in a leather cloak, shadowed by the moon behind them. Eyes the color of blood amber glared in her direction. The pie fell to splatter on the maintenance catwalk below, forgotten.

“Thief!”, a female voice accused. “Name yourself and your clan!”

“Oh crap!” The thief lunged clumsily off the water tower, trading height for speed, then flapping rapidly for height and maneuvering room. Heavy claws scrabbled on the roof behind her, followed by the clap of large leathern wings opening and catching air.

A quick glance showed that she was definitely being pursued. “Crap, crap, crap, double crap! She can fly! Just what I needed!” She half-tucked her left wing, rolling left, sliding between the treetops. A dangerous move if she miscalculated.

*-*-*

Robbie Valentino, one-time boyfriend of Wendy Corduroy, walked hand in hand with his current interest, Tambry, in the general direction of eventually taking her back to her parents house. Ever since the zombie incident, Tambry had insisted on him walking her home. 

As usual Tambry spent almost as much time staring at her phone as she did paying attention to him, so he supposed that was close enough to a win. He chose that moment to look up, once again moodily wishing he was back together with Wendy.

Robbie Valentino, sixteen years old, lead guitarist, had chosen exactly the very moment to see two scantily clad, dark-skinned, bat-winged women streak by in the in the night above him, one chasing the other. 

“Home, yes, haha", Robbie announced, tugging Tambry's hand.

“’Bout time", Tambry agreed without looking up from her phone.

*-*-* 

Angela, daughter of the mighty Goliath, who was leader of the Manhattan Clan, was closing the distance on her quarry. The female gargoyle ahead of her was an agile, powerful flyer, but not as skilled. Clever yes, but cautious. She had sacrificed several easy opportunities to evade Angela already, and now they had ventured well less than a hundred feet above the ground. Now in the encroaching confines of the conifers, Angela watched for her opponent to make a mistake.

There! The female ahead of her flared to drop airspeed to avoid colliding with a heavy branch, ducking clumsily, almost upright in the air. 

Angela tucked her own wings slightly, and braced for the grappling impact, and pinioned the prey’s wings close to her body upon making contact. They dropped together, the rogue female screaming in fear and going limp.

Angela flared her wings for maximum lift short of impact, and landed, taking only two steps once on the ground. Shifting the other female to a more convenient carry, Angela sprinted several steps, leaped, wings beating for altitude, and carried her quarry back to her temporary roost atop the local high school. She landed on the roof gracefully, folded her wings, and using a pair handcuffs given to her by her father’s mate, and a length of strong chain, secured the rogue female by her ankle to a flagpole. Dawn was still hours away. She had time to wait, until either the rogue woke, or the sun turned them both to stone for the day.

Her patience was soon rewarded.

*-*-*

Marcie slowly regained consciousness. She was slightly amazed she was still alive, and other than some sore ribs, unharmed. Attempts to move confirmed that she had been restrained. She sat up.

“You’re awake. Good”, the winged figure nearby noted. “Now tell me you name and your clan.”

Marcie was stunned. The creature thought she was one of her own kind! Marcie considered her options, thoughts racing. “O-only if you tell me your name first!”, she demanded.

The female creature smiled. Carnivore teeth. Not good.

“Of course. I am Angela, of the Manhattan Clan, daughter of Goliath, mate to Broadway.”

“Manhatt--. That’s in New York!”, Marcie exclaimed, shifting to a cross-legged position. 

Angela nodded. “You know your geography. Excellent! It took me some time to cross the continent, travelling atop trains and container trucks to reach you once I heard of you, sister. Now, as you agreed, tell me your name and clan.” 

Marcie drew a halting breath, considering what to say. And then stopped. 

No. No more lies. She’d made that promise, and she was going to keep it. Her head dropped.

“I’m not who you think I am. I’m not even what you think I am”, Marcie admitted.

Angela looked hurt, confused. Marcie reached up, gripping the scarlet horns of her headpiece, and lifted, removing the Dark Lilith mask. “My name is Marcie Fleach. And I’m looking for someone. Somebody incredibly special to me.”

Marcie could see the warring emotions on Angela's face. “I didn’t mean to trick you. I didn’t even know you existed. All I wanted to do was attract a specific person's attention to a place they couldn’t help but find me. So I used the Dark Lilith flight suit I’d built, and started behaving in a way that was sure to generate stories in the media and bring them to me.”

“Why? What did you intend once they’d found you? Vengeance?”

Marcie shook her head. “No. I’d never hurt them. I couldn’t. After all, they’re the only person in the world who was ever nice to me.”

Angela stood, crossed to Marcie and released her, helping Marcie to her feet. “I understand. Perhaps better than you know. Compassion is never wasted.” She touched Marcie’s arm gently. “I apologize if I injured you.”

“I think I’ll live.”

Angela look up into the night, then at Marcie. “There are so few of my kind, and humans have always feared us. I thought I’d found…”

“A friend?”, Marcie offered.

Angela smiled. “And perhaps more. Broadway has two rookery brothers. Lexington, the youngest, has no mate. I thought, perhaps, you…?”

“I’m so sorry, Angela.” Marcie dropped back to sit cross-legged. Angela squatted on her powerful talons, wings wrapped like a cloak. “I’m sorry I'm not a…whatever you are-”

“A gargoyle”, Angela supplied.

“A gargoyle”, Marcie continued. “And it wouldn’t work between Lexington and me because, well…”, Marcie trailed off. Angela nodded encouragement. Marcie took a deep breath and carried on. “It wouldn’t work, because I like girls. One girl to be specific.”

Angela blinked. And then laughed. “Is that all? My father’s chosen mate is a human.”

Marcie remained silent.

“There’s more?”

Marcie nodded. “This isn’t where I’m from.”

“That much you hinted at", Angela agreed.

“I don’t think you understand”, Marcie explained. “This reality isn’t the one I came from. I used an artifact, the Planispheric Disc, to travel to this dimension. The person I want to meet, the girl I love, doesn’t even know I exist, and now I have start all over with her again!” Marcie groaned in exasperation.

“This disc you speak of sounds very much like the Phoenix Amulet. And this entire valley is bathed in eldritch energy” Angela pointed out. “You might give thanks that I found you, instead of a more inimical entity.”

Marcie nodded with a sigh.

There was a sudden, brilliant flash of light. Then another. Angela recoiled, dazzled. Marcie blinked hard, purple after-images dancing in her eyes. She looked in the direction the flashes had come from. “Oh…Dammit! He has a camera!” Marcie recognized the man in the rumpled seersucker suit and ridiculous battered straw hat as the one who’d stolen the grifter Stan Pines’ car. “Stop him! He'll ruin everything!”

Angela restrained Marcie, who stared at her, imploringly. “I know his type. He'll try to convince others to search for us. For you.

Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Marcie threw herself into Angela’s embrace. “I’m an idiot!”

*-*-*

Carl Kolchak clattered down the narrow stairs from the school roof access hatch, convinced that the two demons on the roof were in hot pursuit, pelting down the empty hall to the door he’d jimmied open after spotting the creatures winging their way toward the school by accident. The building’s alarm triggered as he slammed open the door, sprinting across the empty parking lot to his car, leaping in and burning rubber back to the Twin Bed Motel. 

These pictures would be his ticket back into the news game!


	8. Chapter 8

Velma Dinkley, once the youngest graduate of her high school, former NASA employee, and the person who helped crack numerous mysteries with her friends, was not entirely certain she was alive.

She blearily regarded the world, as best she could without her glasses. She assumed she was in a bed, being almost relatively comfortable. Her head hurt. That she understood. 

She did not understand why her right hand hurt.

Velma groaned at the thought of movement, but biology was becoming insistent. She rolled on her back.

“It lives!”, pronounced a gravelly male voice in solemn tones.

“Carl?”

“Well it ain’t Prince Charming, Sleeping Beauty”, the former reporter quipped.

“What happened?” Velma mewled. 

“Before or after you punched out an outlaw biker?”

“WHAT?!” Okay, being that loud, and sitting up that suddenly hurt, Velma concluded.

“All six foot three, two hundred and ninety pounds of a denim and leather clad hardcase named ‘Bubbles’. He had the word ‘Pain!’ tattooed on his forehead”, Carl related calmly, pouring club soda into a clear plastic cup. “You dislocated his jaw after he disparaged Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“Oh god…”

“You then sang a stirring rendition of Queen's Billboard hit ‘Somebody to Love' “, he continued.

“Noooo….”

“For an encore you took two of Bubble's friends, equally impressive physical specimens, and juggled them, over your head mind you, in a move you called, and I quote, “the ‘Flying Dinkley’.“

Velma covered her face and moaned, terminally chagrined. “Not the ‘Flying Dinkley'", she pleaded.

“You then hiccoughed in a manner the bartender just happened to find adorable, and passed out.” Carl leaned over, tapping Velma's elbow with the cup. “Here. It’ll help with the head.”

“I made a fool out of myself", Velma lamented quietly.

Carl shrugged. “It’s not everybody who gets a house special drink named after them.”

Velma glared at Carl. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

Silence.

“You’re not kidding.”

A somber nod.

Velma swung her legs out of bed. “I need a shower”, and after her stomach growled amended, “And food. And to find the Mystery Machine.”  
“The Mystery Machine is where you left it”, Carl informed her. She took the small victory, and stumbled towards the bathroom.

An hour later found Velma showered and dressed in her favorite orange turtleneck and burgundy skirt, seated in a booth at Greasy's diner, with a side order of toast and mug of tea, considering her next move. She still had to investigate the local story of the winged woman, and if she was lucky, take the opportunity to apologize to Danny.

The latter proved much simpler, because Danny had just entered the restaurant, heading towards the counter where Wendy Corduroy sat. Velma waved at him, half expecting to be ignored. To her surprise, Danny spoke to Wendy for a moment, then approached her.

“I was out of line, Danny. I’m not expecting you to forgive me, but I’d like it if we could try to be friends.”

Danny motioned at the empty bench seat, sitting when Velma nodded. “I could have handled it better, too", he apologized. “I found a job here, and I’m trying to think of a way to transfer to the local school. And…”, he hesitated. “I think I really like Wendy, but I don’t want to mess it up.” Danny looked over his shoulder at Wendy, who winked, smiled, and gave Danny a thumbs up.

“Friends?”, Velma asked.

“Friends", Danny agreed. They shook hands. “I’m gonna have breakfast with Wendy, the kill a couple of hours with her until we both have our shifts.”  
Velma smiled. “I’ll see you at the motel tonight when you’re done.”

“Thanks.”

“Entirely motivated by self interest, I assure you”, Velma grinned. “I don’t want you haunting me.”

Danny stared for a second. Then clued in, wiggling his fingers at her, imitating a cheeky ghostly moan. “See you tonight, Velma. Say ‘hi’ to the car thief.”

“Don’t remind me.”

A short time later, tea and toast disposed of, Velma almost felt human enough to try real food. She placed her order, borrowed a pen and a scrap of paper, and started planning her movements.

“Excuse me?”

Velma looked up when she heard the slightly nasal female voice. And saw violet eyes behind scarlet framed yellow-lensed glasses. “Oh!”

“Would you happen to be Velma Dinkley?”, asked the somewhat disheveled brown-haired young woman in an ochre cardigan and red skirt. “My name is Marcie Fleach.” A pale yellow Oxford shirt, with a large draping red bow tied under the collar, and red and yellow socks on slender legs, Velma mentally cataloged. “I thought it might be you. I followed as many of your cases as I could. I guess you could say I’m a fan.”

Velma blushed slightly. “I don’t solve many mysteries these days. And I have to admit, you caught me when I’m not at my best.”

Marcie giggled. Why did Velma find that appealing? 

Waving a hand in gentle dismissal, Marcie said “It took me a long time to understand that old metaphor about books and covers. Even longer to accept it as it relates to one's own self.”

“Would you care to join me?” Velma was a bit surprised with herself at making the offer.

“Only if I wouldn’t be intruding. I don’t want to give you the impression I’m some kind of obsessive fan girl", Marcie said self-depreciatingly as she sat. “It’s not often you cross paths with someone who shares your interest in incunabula, the paranormal, and intelligent conversation.”

“You must beat the boys off with a stick", Velma deadpanned.

“I prefer to use my copy of ‘Murder Must Advertise'”, Marcie countered.

“Sherlock Holmes!”, Velma challenged.

“Sociopathic cocaine addict.”

“Hercule Poirot!”

“Self-important popinjay.”

“Erich von Däniken?”

“Swiss con-artist, plagiarist, fraud, and purveyor of erroneous conclusions based on deliberate misinterpretation of archaeological and cultural evidence”, Marcie crowed.

“Kate Allen?”

Marcie made an amusing strangled sound, somewhere between admiration and amorous desire.

Their breakfasts arrived, bacon and eggs for both of them. No toast for Marcie.

Velma shifted tactics. “Home town?”

“Crystal Cove, California.”

“Boyfriend?”

Marcie scoffed dismissively. “Please. You?”

“Nothing that ever became serious.” Velma shrugged. “Not even so much relationships as fleeting infatuations.”

Marcie laced her fingers together, resting her elbows on the table, and her chin on her fingers. “Sounds like we might have more than books and mysteries in common, Dinkley.”

Velma paused, cutlery in hand, oddly pleased with the hinted intimacy. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but I’d swear it feels like I should know you.”

Marcie plucked a strip of bacon from Velma’s plate, and nibbled at it…suggestively. “You never know. Maybe we knew each other in a previous life.”

“You believe in reincarnation?”

“Let’s just agree that I’m open to the possibility”, Marcie smiled.

*-*-*

Seated at the counter, Wendy Corduroy sipped her coffee. “So what’s the plan, Fenton?”

Danny thought about it for a moment, while enjoying his syrup-soaked pancakes. “Finish breakfast, explore Gravity Falls, play moving target for money, be stupidly distracted by an amazing girl, and eventually enjoy several hours in the arms of Morpheus, if I’m lucky.”

“A man with priorities", Wendy grinned. “I like it.”

“What about your plans?”

“Oh, the usual. Goof off, play tour guide, wonder if it’s possible to expire from boredom, let my anxiety slip it’s leash, ignore Stan, worry if one of the supernatural horrors that infest the town will finally kill me, and try to sleep in the testosterone pit called home”, Wendy babbled.

“Wait, you have supernatural events in town?!”, Danny queried.

“Dude, a week or so before you arrived, my friend Dipper accidentally summoned a horde of real zombies”, Wendy whispered tensely. “You’re the sanest, most normal person I’ve met! Even if you are homeless.”

Danny chuckled, self-consciously. “Yup, mister normal. That’s me.”

Wendy finished her coffee. “C'mon, tourist. I wanna see you get your butt kicked by Rumble McSkirmish.”

*-*-*

Velma mopped up the last of her egg yolk with a scrap of toast, popping it in her mouth. Marcie’s violet eyes smiled at her over the rim of her coffee cup. “Something amusing?”

“Not amusing. Comfortable.”

“A lot of people find me intimidating”, said Velma. “A lot of them are cops.”

“I’m not confident the local police could find their butts with both hands, a map, and written instructions”, Marcie said dismissively. 

“So asking them for directions to the tavern next to the Gossiper would be pointless", Velma observed.

Marcie nodded. “Definitely. If you don’t mind the company, I think I know the way.”

“Deal.” 

Velma couldn’t deny the spark of excitement she felt when she and Marcie shook hands.


	9. Chapter 9

Velma and Marcie strolled along the streets of Gravity Falls, chatting about nothing of great importance, on the way to the Mystery Machine, which, as Carl had promised her, was parked in front of the Gossipper and the tavern next door.

“Well, this is me", Velma explained. 

“So that’s the Mystery Machine”, said Marcie admiringly. “Never would have guessed, if it didn’t have the glaring orange text emblazoned on the side panel”, she teased good naturedly.

“You'd be surprised how many times that lettering was literally a lifesaver”, Velma admitted. “Running from some enraged creep in the dark, and you can pick out your getaway van first time, every time. Freddy might have upgraded for a newer, larger model, but the original never let me down.”

Marcie looked torn. “If it’s not too personal, can I ask where the rest of Mystery Inc. is?”

“No, it’s okay. Freddy and Daphne work together on her cable entertainment segment. Shaggy is a gastronomic tester and food critic”, Velma explained. “Scooby went with Shaggy.”

“Mystery Incorporated broke up?!”

Velma shrugged, leaning against the side doors of the blue and green van. “People get older, situations change, priorities get adjusted.” 

Marcie joined Velma in leaning against the van. ”I’m sorry to hear that, Velma. You guys were, well, I always wanted friends that close, ones that you could count on.”

Velma shrugged again, looking up at the slightly taller Marcie. “It’s okay. And thanks.” The two young women were silent for a long moment. 

“So, Velma Dinkley, do you have any plans for the day?”, Marcie smiled. 

“Nothing I’d consider pressing”, Velma admitted. “Other than hunting for clues about a winged woman supposedly seen by locals.”

“Lots of people who might have seen something could be at the beach today", Marcie suggested.

“The same nearby lake that is rumored to hold the legendary Gobblewonker?”

“You’ve heard of it?”, Marcie thrilled.

Velma looked Marcie in the eye. “You had a book on lake monsters in your hand at the Mystery Shack yesterday.”

“Oops”, Marcie admitted.

Velma grinned. “It’s the eyes I really remembered. Not many women have violet eyes.” 

“Not many people notice", Marcie blushed.

Keys in hand, Velma walked around, opened the driver's door, and climbed in. Home sweet home. A glance out the side window revealed Marcie still standing there, and when she noticed Velma had seen her, gave a little half-hearted wave, and a faltering smile. Velma leaned over, unlocking and opening the door. “I don’t know how to get to the lake.”

“You mean it?”, inquired Marcie, hesitantly.

“Please tell me you have a swimsuit. I don’t think my spare would fit you.”

“I rented a place for the summer”, Marcie advised as she climbed in and fastened her seatbelt. “You drive, I’ll navigate!”

*-*-*

Wendy tucked her phone in her back pocket as they stood outside the bowling alley. “Huh. Change of plans, Danny. Stan gave me the day off.”

“Lucky you.”

Wendy shrugged, noncommittal. “It just means more time to kill before I have to return to the casa de testosterone.”

“What are the sunsets like around here?”, Danny hinted. Wendy took a half step closer.

“They can be pretty cool”, she admitted.

“What if I find you in five hours, and we share a terrible burrito while watching the sun go down?”, Danny offered.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Fenton?”

Before Danny could respond, the bowling alley door opened. “Fenton! You start tomorrow!”, his manager informed him. “HVAC went out and the soda machine is busted, so we’re closed. Don’t be late!”

“That was…weirdly convenient timing", Danny observed. 

Wendy had a sly look. “Can you ride a bike?”

“Of course I can! It’s not like I just fly arou-", Danny cut himself short.

“Cool! You can borrow one of my brothers bikes, and a pair of their trunks.”

“And why am I doing this?”

Wendy smiled. “The lake has the best sunsets and the worst burrito stand in town”, she said walking backwards invitingly.

‘I could really get to like it here', Danny thought to himself as he followed her.

*-*-*

Carl sat in one of the most uncomfortable office chairs it had ever been his misfortune to encounter, let alone endure. The tortures of the Bastille and the deranged imagination of the Marquis de Sade would have been hard pressed to exceed the agony Carl was enduring while one Toby Determined took his time perusing the editorial copy and photographs the one-time newshound had handed him. 

The unusually unattractive and diminutive man shuffled the half-dozen pictures for the tenth time, looking at them but not examining them. Then he scanned Carl's reporting again, reading but not comprehending.

“This isn’t usually the kind of thing we print in the Gossiper”, Toby warbled.

Kolchak stared pointedly at the framed and displayed newspaper pages hung on the wall of Toby's office. “Is that a fact?”

Toby swallowed nervously.

“Or is it not in fact a news article that will inform the reading public, who until now, may have been under the impression they contracted viral dyslexia?”, Carl challenged.

Toby leaned away from Kolchak, who now loomed over the desk. “What is it you want from me?”, Toby whined.

Carl was caught off guard. “Isn’t it obvious? I want a job!”

“But you’re so, so-"

“Inquisitive? Perceptive? Dare I say, determined?”, Carl harangued.

“Intimidating!”, Toby cried, cowering.

Kolchak backed down. Slightly. “Think of it this way", he proposed. “I go out there, chase all the stories I can find, and that you assign me, and you, as editor, can relax. Maybe even pick up a hobby you used to enjoy, like-"

“Competitive aerobic dancing?”, Toby enthused.

“Sure, sure", Carl agreed hesitantly, shuddering at the mental image of Toby in a dance leotard.

“You can start tomorrow!”

Carl smiled, pure predator. “I’ll just tidy up my paperwork. Oh, and I’ll need a reasonable advance on my pay. Moving expenses, utility hook ups, that sort thing. You understand.” 

Toby nodded.

“And an expense account once I start!”, Carl interjected.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, mister…mister, what was your name again?”, Toby inquired. 

“Kolchak. Karel, ah, that is, Carl, Kolchak. Junior”, he lied. “Named after my great uncle, the noted Lithuanian General Kolchak.”

*-*-*

Marcie stood next to the Mystery Machine, waiting for Velma to emerge from changing into her swimsuit. Wearing a broad-rimmed sunhat, Marcie was draped in a gauzy lemon kaftan over her red and yellow striped bikini, a pale blue beach towel over her shoulder. She absently tapped the sole of her right flip-flop against her heel by flexing her toes.

The side door latch ‘clunked', Velma stepping out into the gravel parking lot, a floral orange towel in hand.

In a satiny white tank suit that clung in all the right places.

Marcie made the odd little strangled sound again.

“Are you alright, Marcie?”

“Yes!”, she announced, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “Good! Yes, I’m…shall we go?”

Marcie offered her arm to Velma, who accepted. Both blushed just ever so slightly as they walked arm in arm down to the beach.  
Gravity Falls Beach recorded three concussions, one broken nose, and the retrieval of an ATV quad from the lake shortly thereafter.


	10. Chapter 10

Wendy’s hip-length red hair billowed and flicked in the breeze of their passage as she and Danny freewheeled on their bikes down the long hill that led to Gravity Falls Beach, pedalling occasionally to maintain momentum. For Wendy it was something of an unexpected but pleasant surprise as Danny rode beside her, instead of trying to prove his masculinity by racing her, or riding behind to ogle her as her previous boyfriends had.

She wore denim cutoffs over the red tank suit she’d kept after being fired from the public swimming pool, and a pale blue bandanna. Wendy had convinced one of her brothers to grudgingly loan Danny a pair of black swim trunks, and she was idly daydreaming about what Danny would look like at the beach when she heard the crash of a bike falling to the ground. She braked hard, looking behind her.

Danny sat on the ground, looking sheepish next to the fallen bike.

“What happened?!”

“I got distracted, my foot slipped off the pedal, and Newton took over”, Danny improvised as he stood up, levering the bike back up on its wheels.

“Dude, who's Newton?” 

“Isaac. Isaac Newton”, Danny explained. “The law of gravity has heavy fines.” He wasn’t about to admit to her that anxiety about being around someone he was attracted to in a crowd of people he didn’t know had triggered his ghost state, and the bike had been uncontrolled.

“Are you alright?”, Wendy laughed nervously. “That was a pretty epic bail.”

“My pride may never recover”, Danny said as he remounted the bike. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

Wendy shook her head, slightly amazed that Danny had calmly shrugged off his fall. No macho posturing, no looking for sympathy. They resumed riding, and soon reached their destination.

The public beach at Gravity Falls Lake was not as crowded as Danny had feared. ‘I might be able to pull this off without totally screwing up', he thought. Securing their bikes, he and Wendy headed to the beach, towels in hand.

Wendy found a patch of grass away from the main beach shaded by the forest for them to lay out their towels. She rummaged in her repurposed school backpack, handing Danny a bottle of water-resistant SPF 100 sunscreen, and sat, facing away from him. “Do my back?”

The bottle fell to the ground through his ghostly hand.

“S-sure”, Danny agreed, retrieving the bottle and kneeling behind Wendy. 

“You’ve got a light touch", Wendy complimented.

“Yeah, like I’m going to just start groping a girl I barely know in public”, Danny scoffed. “I like my head where it is, thank you.” He finished her back, wiping the small amount of excess on his legs, and handed Wendy back the bottle, who applied the sunscreen to the places she could reach.  
When she was done, she turned to face him. “Thanks. If I don’t wear this goop, I'll end up looking like a Sea Galley entrée.”

“With your coloring, I believe it.”

Wendy looked at Danny appraisingly. “You could use some yourself. You're as pale as a ghost.” 

Danny looked at himself, slightly panicked. 

“Relax, Danny”, Wendy suggested. “I’ll do your back. Fair's fair.”

Danny concentrated on remaining human, desperately ignoring Wendy’s touch. Looking around for something, anything to think about other than Wendy's firm hands, he saw the last person he’d expected.

“Mister Lancer?!”

The bald, goateed teacher turned and faced Danny at the exclamation. “Salem’s Lot! Fenton? What are you doing here?”

“The same as you?”, Danny asked hesitantly. ‘I’m going to freak out', Danny thought frantically. ‘I’m going to lose it and go ghost in front of Wendy and Lancer. I’m dead.’

Lancer stared at him, evaluating. “Aren't you going to introduce your girlfriend?”

“I-, that is, she's-", Danny flustered.

“Wendy Corduroy”, she interjected. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Ah, a summer fling, a noble tradition", Lancer grinned. “Behave yourself, Fenton. I wont have you sullying the good name of Casper High.”

“Don’t worry, Mister Lancer", Wendy promised. “I’ll keep him on a short leash.” And then she leaned around and kissed Danny. Enthusiastically. 

“C’mon, tourist. I want to go swimming.” Wendy tugged Danny to his feet. “Buh-h…”, was all he could manage in reply.

Lancer watched the young couple run down the beach, high-stepping into the shallows until knee-deep before diving into the lake. He reached into a pocket of his cargo shorts, retrieved and opened his flip-phone, and pressed one of the pre-programmed numbers, waiting while it rang. “Hello?”, answered the female voice at the other end.

“Jazz. It’s Lancer. Tell Sam I found him.”

“Oh my god! Thank you!”

“Operation ‘Bill of Rights' is a go.”

“Understood. Thank you again!”

*-*-*

Danny surfaced first.

Wendy surfaced looking like a young goddess. “So that was one of your teachers? He seems pretty chill.”

“You don’t know Lancer", Danny replied glumly.

Wendy tried to move closer, and Danny retreated, physically, emotionally.

“What’s wrong, Danny?” Wendy was genuinely concerned. “Are you worried he’s going to tell your family where you are?”

Danny nodded. “Worse. He’s going to tell my parents where I am.”

“Gravity Falls is a great place to hide out. Just ask Stan. He's been hiding from the government for years”, Wendy laughed. 

“My parents are worse.”

“What happened, Danny?” The question he’d been dreading.

“I’m…not like other guys", he admitted.

“I’ll say!”, Wendy agreed. “You’re polite, smart, funny, respectful, resourceful, honest, and kind. It’s why I fell for you, Fenton.”

“Wendy, you’ve known me for two days. I'm… I have a real problem! It's-" She cut him off by kissing him again. 

“Anyone comes for you, they have to go through me first!” The ferocity in her eyes, her voice were convincing.

*-*-*

Watching from the beach, Lancer smiled. “Your brother is in good hands, Jazz. Tell your parents that Danny has been seen in Florida. At Disney World. Working at the Haunted Mansion.” He closed the connection and returned the phone to his pocket.

*-*-*

Wendy and Danny returned to their towels. 

“I have to tell you something, Wendy. I… I’m tired of living half a life, having secrets from people I care about.”

She pointed out Lancer. “It can wait.”

They went to gather their belongings. “Relax, Fenton. I’m on your side”, Lancer announced. Danny stared at him, disbelieving. “Sam and Jazz told me everything.”

“Everything?”, Danny squeaked. 

Lancer nodded. “Everything. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a summer vacation to enjoy.”

Wendy saw the tension she’d felt in Danny earlier drop away like a load of bricks. “Danny?”

“Can we go for a walk? Some place private?”, Danny suggested.

Wendy took his hand. “C’mon. I know the perfect place.”

*-*-*

It was alive, green and shadowed, shafts of golden light piercing the canopy of the forest. It was perfect.

“So what’s the terrible secret you need to tell me, Danny?”

Danny took both of Wendy’s hands, looking deeply into her eyes. “Like I said, I’m not like other guys.”

“No, you’re not", Wendy agreed. “You're a nice guy.”

Danny smiled, relief tinged with sadness.

“See? Every other guy I’ve called ‘nice’ immediately proves what a jerk he is by flying off the handle defending himself”, Wendy explained earnestly. “You? You actually accept it as a compliment.”

“I had to unlearn a lot of bad habits after the accident”, Danny replied. “And I’m not as honest as you think. I had to…steal, while I was-"

“While you were on the run", Wendy agreed, not releasing Danny's hands. “You did what you had to.”

They stood for a moment in silence. 

“The accident?”, Wendy prompted.

“Right. No secrets”, Danny sighed, took a deep breath. “My parents are scientists, geniuses in their respective fields. And they’re convinced they'd built a device that would allow spirits and ghosts to manifest in our world, and that would allow us, humans, to communicate with the spirit world.  
They were both really upset when the portal didn’t work right when they activated it, and kinda freaked out that they’d wasted a lot of money, their own and the government's, and their company, Fenton Works, would be wiped out.

I just wanted to help.

I tried fixing the machine. It malfunctioned. It…instead of opening a door to the spirit world, it turned me into a freak. I’m half human, half ghost. My parents found out. They want to capture me, to dissect me.” Danny looked up at her, expecting disbelief or fear in Wendy's eyes.

She stared at him. A flare of soft white light, and he was white haired, green eyed, and immaterial, the empty bathing trunks falling to the ground.

Wendy blinked. 

‘Here it comes’, Danny thought to himself, bracing for the fear and inevitable rejection. 

Wendy laughed. In relief. And held up the trunks, semi-averting her gaze. “Dude! Warn a girl before you drop your drawers!”

“Wendy! Don’t you care I’m a ghost?!”

“You-! I-! Oh god!” She scream laughed. “Cover up! I can’t take yo-you seriously while you look lik-” Wendy doubled over, laughing. Danny plucked the trunks out of her hand, struggled to become human again, and dressed. Wendy was sitting on the ground, still giggling, wiping tears of laughter. Danny sat across from her, waiting for her to regain her composure. It took a while.

Wendy smirked at him. “Is your favorite Star Wars movie ‘The Phantom Menace'? “

“You don’t care that I'm-?” Wendy put her index finger to his lips. 

“You’re a good, decent, caring person, Danny”, Wendy gently interrupted. “When I said you were the most normal person I know the other day, I meant it.” 

Danny smiled, glancing up at her. “Does this mean I have the ghost of a chance with you?”

“Ouija-st have to take it one step at a time", Wendy agreed, mock serious.

Danny leaned closer. “Will we have spirited debates?”

Wendy embraced him. “If you don’t kiss me in the next five seconds, Fenton, I promise I’ll-"

Silence in the forest.

Then, “Oh..Oh…OH!”, Wendy exclaimed.


	11. Chapter 11

The plan to inquire with the townsfolk of Gravity Falls who were at the local beach was a failure. Or would have been if Velma had gone to the effort of actually asking people questions about winged creatures in the area. Instead, she’d spent an enjoyable day getting to know Marcie, went swimming, caught up on some reading and otherwise relaxed.

Lounging on her beach towel, Velma stared out at the water of the lake, seeing a rickety boat with an outboard motor putting along with a beefy young man at the tiller, but not looking for anything in particular. Marcie was sitting beside her, propped against a folding backrest, her book on lake monsters in hand, engrossed in the pages, snickering every so often.

This was completely acceptable, if you were to ask Velma.

And then she felt the caress in the small of her back. Gentle, intimate, familiar. Velma froze for a moment, not breathing. 

It was Marcie, absently stroking her back, as one would with a partner whose habits you knew as well as your own. The touch stopped, just long enough to turn a page, then resumed. Velma relaxed. It was actually rather soothing.

Marcie felt the slight change in Velma’s tension, and realized what she was doing. “Oh god. I’m so sorry, Velma", she apologized, lifting her hand, mortified.

Velma settled her head on her crossed arms. “I didn’t object”, she smiled. 

Marcie reached out, hesitantly, fingers feather light on Velma’s back. Velma’s hand stroked and massaged Marcie’s closest foot in reply. Reassured, Marcie resumed her gentle caress of Velma’s back.

A while later, a familiar voice intruded on their reverie.

“Oh, hey Velma", Danny announced himself. “We’re just on our way to grab a burrito at the Gobblewonker Grub'n'Gulp, which Wendy assures me has the dubious distinction of not being closed by the health board this year.”

Velma gave serious thought about committing an indictable offence at the interruption. Marcie’s stomach rumbling in agreement with him reminded Velma she hadn’t eaten much either today. She donned her glasses and looked up at Danny, standing there holding hands with Wendy, fingers interlaced.

“I’m game", Marcie announced. “Just so long as they have gluten free options. And no hot dogs.”

“I can respect that", said Danny. “I know an ultra recyclo-vegetarian.”

“Sam?”, Wendy inquired.

“Sam”, confirmed Danny, deadpan.

“Ugh", both Velma and Marcie responded. 

*-*-*

The very late lunch dealt with, Danny and Wendy let Velma and Marcie know they were going to stay and watch the sunset. Velma and Marcie watched the young couple walk away hand in hand, then made their way to the Mystery Machine. 

“As much as I enjoyed the day at the beach with you, Velma Dinkley, I have an appointment to attend to tonight”, Marcie informed her.

“I…had a great time, Marcie", Velma admitted, hands clasped in front of her. “It looks like I’m your ride home.”

Marcie smiled. “I’d like that.”

Velma unlocked the van, and the two them got in. The short drive was made in comfortable, companionable quiet, the warm mountain breeze riffling both their hair. All too soon they were parked outside Marcie’s small rented apartment.

“Breakfast at Greasy's?”, Velma offered as the van idled.

“Have it waiting. Two eggs, crisp bacon, orange juice, no toast”, Marcie agreed as she alighted. “If you're serious about the winged woman, find a way to the roof of the high school before sunset. There’s a statue there that might be interesting”, she said through the open window.

Velma waved as she pulled away. Marcie blew her a kiss.

*-*-*

Stan sighed in relief. An entire day without the kids. As much as he cared about them, he needed the opportunity once in awhile to not be responsible for them. Spending time at the tavern was a welcome change of pace.

“Hey, sweetie”, he called to the white-haired bartender. “I’m dry. Hit me.”

The eye-patch wearing bartender slid a glass of the cheapest draught beer she had in front of Stan. “Call me ‘sweetie' again, and you’ll end up like Bubbles.”

A picture of a bearded, heavy-set man with the word ‘Pain!’ tattooed on his forehead was taped to the bar blackboard, under the artistic flourish that announced ‘Memento Mori, Bubbles’.

“Yeesh!”, said Stan, taken aback. 

A mature man in a rumpled seersucker suit thirty years out of style and an even more battered straw hat sat one stool to Stan’s right. “I’ll have a Cadejo Roja, Vaggie.”

“A Cadejo Roja?”, Stan was incredulous as Vaggie opened two bottles, handing one to the man, tapping bottle necks with him, and taking a sip from the one she kept. “I haven’t had one of those since I was hiding out in El Salvador!”

Then he recognised the man. “You’re the louse that stole my car!”

Carl regarded Stan indifferently, sipping the cold pale ale. “You can’t steal that which already belongs to you.” 

Stan balled his fists. “I’m gonna tear you apart!”

A whisper of steel, and a heavy bladed bolo machete whacked into the bar. “Gentlemen!”, Vaggie announced. “If you're going to fight, you’re going to do it outside.” Carl and Stan both stared from the machete to Vaggie. They hadn’t even seen her move. 

No one else so much as twitched.

“Very well", Vaggie said. “Sit down, shake hands, and drink up. If you both behave, you’ll get a Dinkley Special. On the house.”

“What’s a ‘Dinkley Special’?” Stan rumbled.

“Depending on the situation, either two shots of Black Pony whisky in a mug of dark German beer, or a dislocated jaw", Carl told him soberly.

Stan knew Black Pony’s reputation. “I’ll take the broken jaw.” 

The two men sipped their respective drinks in silence. Vaggie polished glassware. Somewhere, a mantle clock ticked, marking off eternity.

“Pardon me, Mister Pines was it?”, Carl began, both hands wrapped casually around his beer bottle. “Being that you are overtly familiar with the more shadowed side of the law, I don’t know if you would be willing to ascertain individuals adept at the procurement or production of government documents?” 

“Why do you need fake I.D?” Stan was blunt to the point of concussion. “Because if you need fake I.D., I'm your man!”, he bragged.

“How much?”, Carl winced.

“I wanna break even on the ‘Stang.”

Carl shrugged, sipping his beer. Could be worse, he reasoned. “Done.” 

“Done", Stan agreed.

“I certainly have been", Carl lamented. 

The door opened and closed, briefly admitting late afternoon sunlight. Velma joined Carl at the bar.

“Back for round two?”, Carl asked innocently. Velma suck out her tongue and ordered a soda.

Stan swore he could hear a boxing ring bell clang twice.

“Carl, you always had a distinct knack for getting into places you had no business being when you pursued a story, right?”, Velma inquired.

“I wouldn’t call it a knack, precisely", Carl equivocated. “A talent perhaps, even occasionally dumb luc-"

“Yes or no, Carl.”

“She’s gotcha there, Carl" Stan laughed.

“Great. Just wonderful. The devil on one shoulder is agreeing with the fallen angel of my better nature on the other", Carl grumped. “Where exactly do you need to enter surreptitiously?”

“Oooh, this should be good", Vaggie smiled, chin resting on her hand, elbow on the bar, her long white hair veiling her eye patch. Stan nodded, grinning like an idiot.

With a look heavenward, Velma spoke up. “I need to get on the roof of the high school before sunset.”

You could have knocked Carl over with a feather. “Are you certain? I mean, absolutely certain that is where you want to go? After sunset?”

“I have a lead on the winged woman, and there is a statue on the peak of the high school roof that no-one remembers seeing before a month ago. So, yes, I need to get onto the school roof”, Velma explained.

Stan handed over a skeleton key. “Use this. It’ll be easier than Carl waking up Sheriff Blubs like he did last night.”

“You’ve already been on the school roof?”, Velma demanded.

“In my defense, I was merely being proactive in tracking down a potential sighting of your objective , Velma", Carl justified. Vaggie ‘helped' by dropping the day's copy of the Gossiper on the bar in front of Velma with a devilish grin.

‘High School Horror!’, the headline screamed in bold type above a grainy flash-photography picture of two startled bat-winged female figures, with the night skyline of Gravity Falls in the background. Velma snatched up the paper, rolling it into a baton and belabouring Carl about the head and shoulders.

“You…muck-raker! You ink-stained scrivener! You two-bit tabloid paparazzo!”, she chided him. “You scooped me!”


	12. Chapter 12

Stan’s skeleton key worked as promised, and the school alarms remained silent.

Carl and Velma moved quickly through the empty building, eerily silent classrooms and hallways that would have been alive with noise and activity any other day of the year. Carl remembered which door led to the service spaces and the narrow access stairway to the roof. The stairwell cupola opened onto the broad flat roof, which was surrounded by a hip high parapet fronted by a peaked façade, at the apex of which was placed an incredibly detailed statue of a winged woman, with small horns and a snarling fanged mouth.

Velma examined the statue closely in the fading light, aided by a flashlight from the Mystery Machine. Carl moved about taking multiple photographs from varying angles. Velma marvelled at the workmanship demonstrated, unable to find a single toolmark or casting seam. Even more puzzling was the fact the statue had no base or plinth. One taloned hand and both feet appeared to actually be gripping the cast concrete coping of the façade. The wings were so thin that a faint ringing could be heard when Velma gently tapped one mantled wing with the butt of her flashlight. 

“Okay, I’m impressed", Velma declared. “Whoever made this put Michelangelo to shame.”

“It wasn’t made", Carl observed. “Not by human hands. Hatched perhaps.”

“Are you telling me this statue is alive, Carl?” The sun was halfway below the western horizon.

“You didn’t see it with it's playmate up here the other night”, Carl warned her.

“There are two of them?”

Carl nodded, cautious. “Except I’m not entirely sure they're working together. They were arguing, perhaps about how to divvy up the hunting ground.”

“That’s baseless speculation, Carl."

“Maybe so", he conceded as he rewound the exposed film, extracting it, and then loading fresh 16mm film. “Are you certain you want to be around when they start bickering over the grocery bill?”

“We have no proof one, or both as you speculate, are in any way hostile”, Velma argued. “We don’t even have proof that this one is actually alive.” In the fading rays of the sun, neither of them saw the large winged shadow flit over the rooftop, circling high above.

“Can we take that chance?”, Carl asked, dead serious.

“You’re being paranoid, Carl", Velma accused.

“In every single encounter I have had with something or someone supernatural, I have yet to experience one that had the public good in mind!”, Carl countered, exasperated.

The last direct rays of the sun vanished behind the wall of the Cascade Range.

The stone skin of the statue shattered into hundreds of fragments, freeing the winged nightmare, who exulted with a cry of release.

Carl stumbled backwards, falling to the gravel and tar rooftop, not unreasonably terrified. 

“Jinkies!”, Velma yelped, one hand raised to protect her eyes from the few shards that pelted her. The beast turned, spotting the pair of investigators, eyes flashing bright blood amber, wings spreading.

As Carl regained his footing, he saw the second female demon land behind them, cutting off their escape route down the stairs. “I knew it! I knew it was a trap!”, he yelped accusingly, clamping his hat to his head.

“Costumes! They’re just people in costumes!”, Velma attempted to convince herself. She wasn’t sure it was working. 

Carl tried dodging around the demon blocking their escape, only to be met with outstretched wing or threatening claw. “On top of a high school in some Podunk town in not how I envisioned dying!”, he yelled at Velma. 

“Panicking is not going to help us, Carl!”, Velma shot back.

“Yes, Carl. Calm down", the demon in front of him soothed, her red and black loincloth flapping as she slowly closed the distance.

The she-demon wearing pale linen confronting Velma raised her hands, palms down, almost a peaceful gesture. ”We’re not going to hurt you, Velma. Either of you.” Her skin was greyish violet in Velma's flashlight beam.

A flash of brilliant blue-white light. Carl had triggered his camera flashgun in a desperation gambit.

“How do you know my name?”, Velma cried.

“Because I told her.” The voice was hauntingly familiar. “Look at me, Velma.”

“Don’t do it!”, Carl warned. “She'll seduce you!”

Velma looked.

The she-demon with the red clothing and scarlet horns stood there, wings folded, a melancholy expression etched in her face. “I won’t hurt you, Velma Dinkley. I could never hurt you.”

The winged woman reached up, gripping the scarlet horns of her mask headpiece, and lifted.

The night hammered Velma to her knees, shock ripping the breath from her. 

“Marcie?!” The raw betrayal in Velma's voice shredded Marcie's heart.

Carl stood there, utterly confused. “Huh?”, was all he could manage.

“YOU LIED TO ME!!”, Velma howled, sobbing.

Marcie tossed her mask aside. It was worthless now. Two halting steps toward Velma.

Velma scurried backwards as best she could, stopping with a cold shock when she ran into the legs of Marcie's accomplice. “Get away from me! You’re just another creep in a mask!”

Marcie collapsed to her knees, utterly forlorn. “No Velma, Angela is very, very real. Her kind are called gargoyles.”

Tears streamed down Velma’s face. What was going on? She was so confused.

Angela crouched, not touching Velma. “Yours is a questing spirit, always seeking answers to imponderable questions. I really think you should listen to Marcie.”

“So, you’re not going to eat us?”, Carl asked. 

“Be quiet, Carl. Please”, Angela gently advised.

“I’m the one who sent you the tip about the mysterious winged woman of Gravity Falls", Marcie confessed. “I though that if you showed up, it would be all of Mystery Inc. I didn’t know you’d show up by yourself. Alone.”

Marcie looked away, miserable. “I despise that word. ‘Alone’. I hate it!”

She looked at Velma, hurt, not accusation in her eyes. “You aren’t the Velma I knew, that I grew up with in Crystal Cove, California. Rivals. She’s dead. They all are! All of Mystery Incorporated! And it’s my fault.

There were some very twisted, very greedy, very powerful people in town who manipulated Mystery Incorporated, and me, into finding all the pieces of the Planispheric Disc, a mystical artifact that would open a portal into the realm where a crystalline sarcophagus imprisoned an ancient intrinsically hostile and evil entity.

Those people, including the father of the Freddy Jones I knew, released the entity, thinking they could control it. 

Fred Jones, Senior, was the first to die.

The rest of Mystery Incorporated died almost immediately after he did. The Velma I knew was mortally wounded. She’d been forced to build the device that read the Planispheric Disc, opening the portal. She told me, begged me to break the disc again, imprison the entity again.

It was too late. The entity was too powerful, too anchored in reality. With the one piece I managed to steal, I leapt into the portal between worlds, wearing my Dark Lilith suit. As I fell? Transited? Shifted? I don’t know how describe it, I heard, I felt every living thing in my world die, consumed by the entity.

I arrived here, in your world, in your California. My I.D. was a close enough match that I could get some temp jobs, patent some of my ideas, and made some, well, a lot of money. I accepted my world was gone, that Velma was gone. The segment of disc I stole, the one with a hole in it that looked like an eye, was lost in the transit.”

Marcie sighed, flicking at some loose gravel on the roof.

“And then. Then I started seeing stories about a gang of mystery solving teenagers. From Coolsville, Ohio. Fred Jones. Norville ‘Shaggy' Rogers. Daphne Blake.

And Velma Dinkley.

I saw your picture. You resemble the Velma I knew, but you’re not her. You’re different, lived a different life. You’re not as cynical as she was.”

Another confessional sigh. “So I dusted off my Lilith suit, researched the most paranormally active place in North America, flew around after sunset a few times until I got spotted, and mailed the Gossiper clipping to the only address I could find that was related to Mystery Incorporated, your bookstore. I had no idea Mystery Incorporated had broken up. And then I waited.”

Angela raised a clawed hand, interjecting. “While Marcie was waiting for you to arrive, Velma, rumors of a winged humanoid reached certain ears in Manhattan. My father, Goliath of the Manhattan Clan, sent me to investigate. Instead of another gargoyle, I found Marcie. In her loneliness, she told me everything.”

“Now hold on", Carl interrupted. “Gargoyles?”

Angela nodded. 

Carl scratched his head, hat tipped back, thinking furiously, pacing. He stopped suddenly. “Of course! Gargoyles! There was an incident in the Nevada desert in Nineteen Seventy-two. Scattered reports of mysterious deaths, disappearances, and an anthropologist was involved, and something about some skeletal remains that biologists of the day couldn't identify!” 

Angela eyed Kolchak warily. “Our kind have always been feared by humans, hunted by them. Often killed by humans. What will you do now that you know we are more than myth, Carl? Our numbers are very few. Will you complete your genocide?”

Carl paused. Three sets of accusing eyes stared at him. His own conscience stared at him from its dismal hollow in his soul. Carl sat abruptly, crosslegged. “God. Dammit”, he glared at them. “I’ll kill the story about the Gargoyles. And the one about the girl from another dimension.”

Angela smiled, gently. “Thank you, Carl.”

“What was she like?” A small voice. “The Velma you knew.”

“We were rivals every year for the science fair. And every year, she beat me”, Marcie recalled wistfully. “If there was an academic school honor to be had, we fought over it. 

When my dad’s carnival started going broke, and I, um broke the law, Velma was the one who argued in favor of me getting a light sentence. And…god, this is so embarrassing”, Marcie said, unable to look Velma in the eye. “My dad was so hard up for cash, Freddy and Daphne started the rumor dad recycled the water we cooked the hot dogs in for bathing. They said I stank like used hot dog water. That became my name around school. ‘Hot Dog Water'”. Marcie picked and swatted at the gravel on the roof, shamed, anxious. “Velma…Velma was the only one who still called me Marcie.” 

“The Fred and Daphne you knew were complete jerks", Velma sniffled, defensive on Marcie's behalf.

“I… I was more than half in love with her. Always had been. When she started dating Shaggy, I spent a long time sitting in a hot bathtub, wondering if it was worth living any more.” Tears were running down Marcie's cheeks. She didn’t care.

“Wait, there was a version of me that dated Shaggy?” Velma was mildly repulsed by the very concept. “Ew, no thank you! That would be like dating a brother.”

Marcie hiccoughed-sniffled-laughed.

“After I got out of prison is when I got coerced into helping Mister E and Jones Senior to find the Planispheric Disc. And Velma died. They all died! And now I’m here. Alone. Again!” Marcie bawled.

Velma lunged across the rooftop, the gravel biting her knees, seizing Marcie in a fierce embrace. “You’re not alone, you hear me? You’re not alone!”

The two young women clung to each other, sobbing, consoling. Apologising. Promising.

*-*-*

Somewhere in the dark nothingness of the space that didn’t exist between dimensions, a golden triangle…winked.


	13. Chapter 13

The early morning breakfast rush at Greasy's Diner. Not a single seat to be had at the counter. Local businessman and ne'er-do-well Stan Pines shared a booth with his handyman Soos . In another booth, Wendy Corduroy sipped her coffee, holding hands with her new boyfriend Danny Fenton while he used the cellphone Tucker had modified to be untraceable to catch up with his sister Jazz and her girlfriend Sam, who had paid to have the phone couriered to an anonymous post office box in Gravity Falls. Dipper Pines, grandnephew of Stan, sat across from the pretty blonde Pacifica Northwest, who almost managed to not quite flinch every time the order bell rang. Another booth's table was cluttered with grade school crafting supplies and the remnants of plates of pancakes, Mabel, Candy, and Grunda intent on their creative endeavors.

Only one person sat alone, a breakfast of bacon and eggs before her, with tea and orange juice within reach. The seat across from her was vacant, and another plate of bacon and eggs, no toast, awaited. Velma, dressed in a comfortable orange t-shirt and brick colored cargo shorts, gazed out the plate glass diner window absently, mind a million miles away. 

Danny finished his call with his sister, and put away his phone, then kissed Wendy’s knuckles. They rose, paid the bill, and stopped by Velma’s booth.

“So, this is where we say goodbye?”, Danny said awkwardly. Wendy nudged him in the ribs gently. Velma brightened, smiling and rising to hug Danny. 

“Not goodbye, Danny. Never goodbye”, Velma corrected, then hugged Wendy in turn. “Keep him grounded and out of trouble.”

“I’ll do my best, Dinkley”, Wendy promised. “I think…I think this one is a keeper.”

“Don’t break her heart, Danny.”

“I don’t think there a rock big enough in the world I can hide under", Danny agreed. “You don’t go getting your heart broken either, okay?”

“Not going to happen, Fenton", Marcie quipped as she slipped into her seat behind Wendy and Danny. “Sorry I’m late, Vee. That landlord, Bud Gleeful, was a jerk and wouldn’t give me back the deposit. His son gives me the creeps, the way he stared at me.” 

A vigilante look between Danny and Wendy passed unnoticed by Velma and Marcie. 

“Did my letter help at all getting you transferred from Amity Park to Gravity Falls for the upcoming school year?”, Velma inquired. 

Danny nodded. “Between you and Lancer, I’ll get my emancipated minor status no problem.”

Velma handed Danny the Twin Bed Motel room key. “Thanks to a certain anonymous wealthy benefactor who shall remain nameless", she pointed at Marcie, “the room is paid up until the first of October. After that, you’re on your own.”

“My boyfriend had his own place?”, Wendy laughed. “Wicked! We are going to watch all the terrible monster movies on cable!” Arms wrapped around each other's waists, she and Danny left the diner.

“If they were any sappier, I’d risk the gluten to eat the pancakes soaked in the syrup we could make out of them”, Marcie grinned.

“I can think of sweeter things I’d much rather feast on", Velma offered straight faced.

Marcie's cutlery clattered on her plate, her face bright with embarrassment. “Velma Dinkley, you are a horrible, terrible, wicked person for saying such a thing in public!” She leaned over her plate, whispering conspiratorially to Velma. “I can’t wait for you to tell me what your going to do when you get me alone.”

Velma plucked a strip of bacon off Marcie’s plate and nibbled it seductively. Marcie made her odd strangled sound in reply.

*-*-*

Vaggie calmly, methodically counted inventory, noting every glass, bottle, cask, and item of furniture in the tavern, consulting the calendar. The end was coming, and she wanted to be ready. 

“Those poor dumb bastards don’t even know what they’re up against", she said sadly to the empty room.

*-*-*

Those who paid attention to such things noticed that the gargoyle statue on the roof of the high school had disappeared as mysteriously as it had arrived.

*-*-* 

Carl Kolchak leaned back in his vintage swivel wooden office chair, feet up on his desk, battered straw hat hanging from a bentwood coatrack, tie loosened and collar open. His erstwhile boss, the flighty Toby Determined had departed for parts unknown on an extended sabbatical, leaving Carl in complete control of the Gossiper. What could possibly go wrong?

Carl regarded the small mountain town that was now and forever his home through the large plate glass window, mentally cataloging the people who walked by, their appearance, what they wore, who they chatted to. Small towns were a godsend to journalists like Carl. Everyone had a story.

Everyone had a secret.

He picked up the small digital media recorder that he’d replaced his trusty cassette tape deck with, and inspected the internet connected laptop computer that had replaced the trusty Underwood and Remington. “You, my infernal friend, are precisely one incident away from a date with a fire axe.”

The sleek laptop beeped at him insolently. Carl was instantly suspicious.

Tucking one hand behind his head, Carl began speaking into the recorder:

“If you are ever driving through the Pacific Northwest, you might have occasion to see cars adorned with bumper stickers for the town of Gravity Falls. 

It’s not on any map, and most people have never heard of it. Those who have, think it’s a myth. I can assure you that it’s very, very real.

But if you're curious, don’t wait. Take a trip.

Find it. It’s out there, somewhere in the woods. Waiting.

There’s only one question you need to ask when you arrive: Who is Bill Cipher?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, gentle reader, we come to the end of our journey together.
> 
> Time to move on. But as Dipper said, "Not too fast."
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this effort as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> You never know...Velma and Marcie, Danny and Wendy, even Carl may have more adventures in store.
> 
> Out there. In the woods.


End file.
